My hands are shaking. I clamp them around the walkie-talkie and hold it against my chest, trying to make myself still.
“What do we do?” I ask, looking out at the minefield alongside Wolf. I can’t bring myself to look at his face. “Wolf?”
The radio crackles to life, startling me.
“I’m coming to get you guys.” It’s Dolly now, not Tank.
Wolf rips the device out of my hands in an instant.
“No,” he says sharply into it. “You two stay put. We’ll make it out.” He looks at me, his face back to its usual hardness, all trace of emotion gone. “We’re gonna go together.”
“Okay,” I say weakly.
“And we’re gonna be fine.” He reaches out, grabs my shoulder, and gives it a brief squeeze before letting go. “Don’t lose your shit on me now, all right?”
“Okay,” I repeat more firmly. I let out a breath and nod at him.
“There we go. Now watch where I step, and follow me. Not too close, in case—” He pauses. “Just stay back a few feet. And don’t look at the mess.”
I nod again, trying not to think too hard about those last parts. Wolf sets out without anything further, his steps surprisingly confident given the situation. He glances back and gestures at me to follow, and I will my feet to step forward into the space he occupied a few seconds ago.
I move without thinking about it. It feels like my brain has shut down, things like sadness and fear pushed to the side. All that passes through my mind is where to step next, my eyes tracking Wolf’s movements and my feet imitating them while my brain remains empty. Step, wait, step. I can do this. Soon we’re halfway there, and it almost feels easy.
Then I see the arm.
Suddenly my feet won’t move and neither will my eyes, staying glued on the scorched limb just a few feet to my right. It simultaneously reminds me of the arm Wolf once offered me to eat, and the first time I saw Pretty Boy. The meat I did eat, and Pretty Boy’s smile.
I slap a hand across my mouth and lean over, my stomach heaving violently. Bile burns the back of my throat.
“Hey,” Wolf says from up ahead. “What’d I tell you? Keep your eyes on me.”
I slowly remove my hand from my mouth and swallow hard. I still can’t take my eyes off the arm.
“Are we just going to leave him here?” I ask, my voice coming out thick.
“We don’t have a choice. Get your shit together and keep moving.”
I wipe my eyes and take a shuddery breath. I take a step closer to the arm, off of the safe path.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Just one piece,” I say, my voice wavering. “Then we can have a funeral.”
“It’s not fucking worth it!” Wolf shouts at me. The genuine alarm in his tone gives me pause, but I take another step before I can lose my resolve. One more, and I’m able to bend down and gingerly snatch the arm out of the dirt. Ignoring the blood and the discomfiting limpness of it, I clutch it against my chest.
“Got it,” I say, making my way back to the path Wolf took.
“Good for you, you got the bloody fucking arm. Now get your ass over here before you blow yourself up.”
Through a combination of luck and attempting to follow the path Pretty Boy took, Wolf and I make it back to the truck safely. Tank is sitting on the ground in tears when we arrive. Wolf talks to him quietly while I sit with Dolly, my head resting on her shoulder. It takes me a while to remember I’m still holding the arm. Tank wants to go back for more of him, but Wolf says it’s too dangerous.
We debate about leaving some sort of headstone until we realize none of us can write, and the hard-packed earth defeats our idea of a partial burial. So we settle for just the arm, a hunk of flesh that will soon be melted away by time and heat and leave nothing but dusty bones. I hope they’ll serve as a warning to travelers about to cross into the minefield.
We form a half circle around the makeshift grave, and nobody knows what to do next. Tank’s bulky shoulders heave with sobs. He doesn’t even attempt to hide the tears flowing down his dark face. I find myself crying, too, albeit more quietly. I can’t bring myself to think of the wrongs Pretty Boy did or the worse ones he might’ve done if he had a chance. No matter what, his loss leaves an emptiness behind.
The other two are stony-faced. Dolly’s expression remains unchanged, not a flicker of emotion crossing her features as she stares at what’s left of Pretty Boy. Wolf’s face is unreadable, but he pats Tank on the shoulder a few times. The big man’s loud sobs are the only noise besides the wind for several minutes. My mind keeps replaying the explosion over and over again, the way Pretty Boy was gone in an instant and left only a mess of guts and scattered limbs behind. A person one second, meat the next. That’s the nature of the wastes.
Eventually Wolf clears his throat, looking uncomfortable.
“Well, I guess we should say something,” he says. Nobody answers. After an awkward stretch of silence, he looks over at Tank. “You go first, big guy.”
Tank nods and takes a shaky breath. He stifles his sobs and controls himself before speaking.
“He was my friend,” he says. “And maybe he wasn’t always the most reliable friend, but he was the best I had for a long time.” He looks down at the pile and clenches his jaw, fighting back a fresh wave of tears. “I would’ve taken the fall for you if I could, buddy. And I’m sorry there wasn’t anything I could do.”
He stops and glances at me as if to signal that he’s done. I swallow hard, trying to dislodge a lump in my throat.
There’s a lot I want to say, but I don’t really know how. I want to talk about how I think he tried a lot harder than anyone gave him credit for, and how he probably did the best he could to deal with a life he never wanted. I want to say he might’ve been a great guy in another world, but was never really cut out for this one. I want to express how unfair it is that he got blown up just when we were finally becoming friends. But the words stick on my tongue and I can’t quite bring myself to say them. I don’t think there’s really a point in saying them, anyway. It’s no good now.
“We didn’t always get along,” I say, “but you were nice, um, toward the end. So thanks I guess. And sorry for throwing up on you that one time, though you kind of deserved it.”
I shut my mouth and cross my arms over my chest. Wolf coughs in the quiet that follows, and when I glance over at him it almost looks like he’s smirking.
The silence goes on for a while before we all look at Dolly.
“I have nothing to say,” she says flatly when she notices us staring.
“Aww, c’mon, Dolly. Say something,” Wolf says.
“I didn’t like him.”
“No, something nice.”
She pauses and stares into the distance, apparently deep in thought.
“He was …” she says haltingly. “Not so bad to look at.”
Wolf lets out a sound like he’s choking. I slowly turn my head in his direction and find, to my amazement, he’s trying to stifle a laugh. When he notices all of us looking at him, he loses it. The laughter explodes out of him like it was tired of being cooped up for so long.
“Look at this,” he says, laughing so hard his whole body shakes, “look at this fucking mess. It’s a goddamn arm. What kind of sick fucking funeral is this?” He pauses to gasp for breath and laugh some more.
I’m shocked by his sudden mirth, offended by the idea that he would laugh with a freshly dead friend in front of us. I don’t even know what to say, and stare at him with my mouth gaping open.
But then I look at the gory arm in front of us, the meat that used to be Pretty Boy, and, oddly enough, I feel it bubbling up within me: a laugh. It bursts out before I can suppress it, the laughter coming guiltily at first but then rising in volume and shamelessness. Soon even Tank is laughing, despite the tears running down his face. Dolly gives a small smile, as if not quite sure what the joke is but sharing in our amusement anyway. We stay like that, laughing in front o
f a makeshift grave, for a while. And in the end, drained of my tears and laughter, I feel lighter.
“Rest in pieces,” Wolf says almost affectionately, “you motherfucker.”
The ride is quiet without Pretty Boy. Occasionally someone tries to say something, but it’s too weird. There are awkward pauses where everyone waits for one of his dry comments or jabs at Wolf, empty moments where he should be but he isn’t anymore. Despite the fact he got blown to pieces right in front of me, his death doesn’t hit me right away. It’s like at first I don’t realize he’s really gone—gone forever. But as time goes on, it sinks in. I find myself expecting him to say something, and each time have to remind myself that he isn’t there, and he’s never going to be there again. And even though we had our issues, and even though he wasn’t exactly a good guy, I find myself still missing him. I guess that’s the best definition I have for death: You miss them being there, and you miss it forever.
It was the same with my papa. Losing someone doesn’t hit you straight-on, it creeps up on you. Just when you think you’re done feeling like a part of your life is missing, it hits you again out of nowhere and the grief is like a fresh wound. I know how it is, and I think everyone else does, too. I know Dolly has been through loss, and judging from the looks on Wolf’s and Tank’s faces they have as well.
But when it comes down to it, we don’t have time to grieve. The wastelands aren’t going to sit and wait for us to suck it up, and neither is Saint. Every passing hour is another hour he gets to prepare for our arrival, and we really can’t afford that. Before too long Wolf starts pulling out his maps again and talking strategy in a low voice with Dolly, and Tank and I start killing time by playing “I Spy.” It’s a damn slow game out in the middle of nowhere, but at least it’s a distraction.
Eventually I build up the courage to speak to Wolf.
“So, uh … what’s our plan now?” I ask. We’ve unanimously decided that taking a back route isn’t an option anymore. We don’t know how far the minefield extends, or if any other traps lay waiting for us.
“We-ell …” The look on his face clearly says he has no idea. But of course Wolf would never admit that, so instead he wings it. “We’re gonna charge in from the front after all.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah,” he says, voice growing more confident as he plunges ahead. “We drive the big truck right in through their front door, and start tossin’ out grenades. They’ll never see it coming.”
“Didn’t you say we couldn’t do that ’cause it’s too dumb?”
“Well, yeah, but that’s the genius. It’s so fuckin’ dumb they’re never gonna expect us to actually do it. Element of surprise.”
This is where Pretty Boy would say this sounds like a bad idea, or declare there’s no way in hell he’s going on this mission. Everyone is probably thinking the same thing, because nobody says anything for a while. Or maybe everyone’s just thinking about what a shitty plan this is.
“Okay,” I say finally, unable to take the silence any longer. “I guess we’ve done stupider things before.”
“Damn right we have!” Wolf says cheerfully. He claps me on the shoulder. “We’ll need to stop soon, divvy up the guns and grenades and other goodies. All of us load up, go in guns blazing.”
It sounds like the kind of idea that could get us all killed, but I’m not gonna be the one to say that. We don’t have a lot of options, anyway.
Wolf soon declares it’s time to stop and prep for arrival. We pull onto the side of the road and everyone crams into the back compartment with all of the boxes.
Wolf has sorted most of the goods into helpful piles, including guns, big guns, and “really fuckin’ huge” guns. The explosives have also been lumped together in one very dangerous-looking pile. I sit as far away from it as possible.
Wolf gives each of us a bulletproof vest and some guns to start with. My vest is way too big and looks ridiculous, but I have it better than Tank, who can barely squeeze into his. His big belly protrudes from underneath, so it doesn’t really look like it’s protecting anything.
Everyone else gets some big, hefty, deadly-looking guns, and I get a pistol. Wolf says he doesn’t trust me with anything bigger, and I’d probably shoot myself or one of the others with anything automatic. Honestly, I’m just happy to have a gun in my hands. He gives me a new knife, too: a big and scary-looking one that looks sharp enough to slice through bone. It’s definitely a lot more intimidating than my old one, but I keep that, too, just in case. It’s gotten me out of a few tight spots.
“All right, so,” Wolf says. He unfurls a piece of paper with a very crude drawing on it. “I mapped out the place so we can—”
“Wait, where’s the actual map?”
“You insulting my handiwork, Kid?”
“Umm, no …” I scrutinize the so-called map for another few seconds, and still can’t make any sense out of the wobbly circles and squares. It looks like something a kid with too much radiation to the brain would draw. “I mean, I just … you didn’t get one from the townies?”
“They didn’t have any of the inside, but they knew the basics. Are you sayin’ there’s something wrong with my map?”
“Er, no. It’s, uh, great.”
“Damn right it is. Now keep your dumb mouth shut, I’m explainin’ a plan here.” He clears his throat and points a long and dirty fingernail at a big circle. “Now this here is the radio tower. It’s not actually a circle, it’s a big fuckin’ tall metal thing. And, according to the townies, it’s a little harder to blow up than I first imagined. So-o, with that in mind, we’re not gonna go right for that one. Instead …” He circles his finger around slowly and stops it on a square next to the circle. “We’re gonna go here.”
A moment of silence falls. I stare at the map, struggling to keep my mouth shut like Wolf said, until finally Tank speaks up instead.
“And what the hell is that supposed to be?”
“It’s the control room, ya big dumb fuck. It’s the place they’ve actually got all the equipment and shit for their brainwashin’.” He taps the square a few times, nodding thoughtfully. “So we get in here, we shoot some guys, we blow the shit up. Most importantly, we kill the fuck out of Saint.” He looks up at us, his expression sobering for a moment. “That’s the most important bit. Remember what I said about people with power, and all the ‘law and order’ bullshit this asshole is trying to pull. This is our entire way of life at stake. The guy’s gotta go down, no matter what happens.”
“Right, boss,” Tank says, while Dolly nods. After a moment’s hesitation, I nod my agreement as well. Wolf is right: Saint has to die. Especially with the Queen gone, he’ll have far too much rein here if we don’t pull this off.
“So what’s the rest of the plan?” I ask.
“Uh … that’s it. Then we get out. Easy.” He grins triumphantly, rolls his map up, and sticks it into his back pocket. He looks around at us as if expecting applause. Everyone stares at him.
“Well,” I say, trying to sound enthusiastic, “I guess that doesn’t sound too hard.”
“Child’s play,” Wolf says confidently.
“And we’re just gonna drive the truck right into the place?”
“Yup. I figure someone drives, the rest of us hide in the back, we crash through the front of the building, and—bam! All pile out and give ’em a hell of a surprise.”
“And what if we accidentally blow ourselves up?”
“Well that would be fuckin’ unfortunate, wouldn’t it, Kid?” Wolf grins, as unconcerned as always. He looks between me and Tank, who both look a little dubious. “Aww, come on. Why can’t you guys just be nice and quiet and follow along with the whole thing like Dolly does?”
Dolly glances up at the mention of her name, and then returns to scrutinizing guns, which seems much more important to her.
“So this is really happening,” I say. It still doesn’t feel real to me. Looting towns and the like is one thing, but this is something e
lse entirely.
“Yep,” Wolf says. “Don’t worry, Kid. It’ll be fun.”
“Yeah, fun,” Tank says, and not sarcastically. “Plenty of people to shoot. And look how big our guns are! No way they have bigger guns than these.”
“Yeah, no way we can lose with guns this big.”
I shake my head at them, but can’t help but laugh.
“Seriously, though,” Tank says. “Don’t worry, Kid. I’ll be looking out for you.”
“Me, too,” Dolly says quietly behind me.
“I’ll be way too busy killing people, but I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Wolf says.
XXVII
The Radio Tower
Next thing I know, I’m in a truck full of explosives barreling straight at a brick building. Tank, Dolly, and I are in the back of the truck, clinging desperately to boxes for support. The truck sways and shudders. It’s clearly not built to drive this fast. I’m half-worried the thing will fall apart before we hit the building, half-worried it won’t. Judging from the nauseous look on Tank’s face, he shares the sentiment. Dolly’s face is blank. With one gun in her hand, another strapped to her back, and a belt stocked with grenades and extra ammo, she looks ready for anything. I imagine Wolf is having the time of his life up front, pushing the pedal to the floor and not giving a shit about the consequences.
“Here it comes!” Wolf shouts over the walkie-talkie. I squeeze myself in between two stacks of boxes, close my eyes, and hold on for dear life.
We slam into the building.
I feel the impact go through the truck like a wave. There’s an awful crashing sound, and I can tell from the noise that we made it through the wall. Boxes topple over around me and something falls on top of my head—a can of food, I think. I ignore it and stay crouched down. The truck keeps going for a short while and slams into something else.
The engine whines like a dying animal. Everything else is silent as we all attempt to regain our bearings.
“You all right, ladies?” Tank asks.
“Fine,” Dolly says.
The Wastelanders Page 24